The Priest
by Maverly
Summary: The others. Think about them. They were much safter than she was. What had the years done to them?
1. Part 1

**When the train finally chugged to a stop and his fellow passengers filed slowly out of the narrow compartment, banging boxes and bags into his knees as they went, Sean Elliot found that he could not bring himself to rise from the uncomfortable seat his lanky frame had been crammed in for the past six hours. **

**His nose was already running, eyes already itching and watery. He blew his nose laboriously into his handkerchief with a quiet groan. Ten years gone by and still nothing had changed.**

**Sean Elliot still seemed to be allergic to New York City. **

**When Father Dominic had informed Sean of his new post in Manhattan, Sean hadn't complained. Of course he hadn't, though he was sure one word to the kindly old priest would have sent him elsewhere. Father Dominic liked him. He would not have questioned Sean's request. But Sean had remained quiet, as was his nature. He hadn't wanted to cause trouble, hadn't wanted to be a pest. If this were what the church—and God Himself, of course—wanted of him, he would be a humble and obedient servant and comply. Of course. Sean accepted the post and packed his bags without so much as a sentence of complaint, though his insides were twisting themselves in painful knots. And as the train passed into New York from Massachusetts, he could not help feeling a pang of sadness and yes, perhaps even dread, despite the fact that he was returning to the place that had seen him through the best years of his life.**

**He sat alone in the empty car for some time, gazing at the shadowy buildings that were looming outside his window, half hidden by thick April fog, fearing the moment he would have to walk back into the city of his youth, a place he had left behind so abruptly, all those loose ends fluttering in the breeze like ribbons in a girl's hair. **

**Ribbons in a girl's hair. They were always green—emerald green that would make her eyes glow. Oh, her beautiful blue eyes. Always laughing, teasing... Sean suddenly stopped himself, shoving the image from his mind. There they were again. The hints of feelings, feelings that made his cheeks burn with shame. Don't think about that anymore. He purposely let the clasp of his luggage snap onto his fingers. Pain. There, that was better. The other feelings shrank away like cockroaches scurrying from a bright light. Think of that, instead. Or the others. Think about them. They were much safer than she was. What had the years done to them? **

**Prodded by an impatient conductor, Sean stood and collected the rest of his bags, wondering still at what had become of his past. Would the memories overcome him like a thousand angry phantoms as he walked the streets, suffocating him with a sense of nostalgia that he simply could not resist?**

**Descending the stairs, Sean uttered a prayer into the mist that covered the city like a blanket, muffling the sounds of the street vendors shrilly hawking their wares nearby. **

**_Dear Lord, creator of all that is good and pious, I am your humble and loyal servant, obedient to you and you alone…Please protect me._**

**Protection from what, exactly, Sean still was not sure. But it was protection that he felt he needed most desperately, and it was protection then that he prayed for.**

**_Two Weeks Later_**__

**"Father Sean!" **

**The shout shattered the comfortable, contemplative silence that had settled upon Sean's small apartment like a fine dust, and made him jump, clobbering his head against the bookshelf that he was attempting to put together.**

**"Father Sean! Have I come at a bad time?"**

**Having extracted himself from the shelf, Sean sat back on his heels to see who the unwanted visitor was, all gruff voice and booming baritone. "No, Father Anthony. Not a bad time at all," he said with a tight smile, trying in vain to replace his rush of irritation with compassion for the visitor. He had been trying to assemble the bookshelf for half an hour, and maybe five minutes more and he would've had it done…But the old man was not to be ignored. Being the only other priest at Saint Benedict's, the portly fellow was all Sean had, really, by way of a companion. "What can I do for you?"**

**"I was just in the neighborhood, and thought I'd make a friendly visit. How's the apartment?" Father Anthony began walking about the bare room, pausing at every window to push it open. Sean watched. And sniffled. Where was his handkerchief?**

**"It's…coming along. I do wish there had been room in the rectory for me. I feel distanced from the church, from the parishioners…" Sean sighed, "it's a shame."**

**"It certainly is," returned Father Anthony, content with the spring air slipping through the apartment and now lowering his considerable girth onto a wobbling kitchen chair. "But we have no other choice. The sisters from Saint Agatha's are staying a bit longer than expected. Not that anyone minds, bless their souls. But as soon as the room is free, I promise …It's all yours." He smiled at his young counterpart. "But until that day comes, this isn't a terrible arrangement, now is it?" **

**Sean paused to survey his new home. It was nice enough. A big room that served as both a kitchen and a living room, with windows lining the wall to let the spring sunlight pour in and a bedroom adjacent to it, tidy and small. Perfect for any young man on his own. **

**But Sean hated it. No…not hate. Resentment. Yes, that was the right word. Resentment. He was a priest. He should be living in the Rectory, as priests are meant to do. Not an apartment a few buildings down. Finally, after years of sacrifice and hard work and endless study, Sean Elliot was now Father Sean Elliot, and still he did not feel like a proper priest. **

**The entire thing was absurd, if you asked him.**

**But no one did. And even if they had, Sean wouldn't have said anything. He kept quiet, confessed his sins of bitterness, his feelings of inflated self-regard. He built a bookshelf. He waited. **

**"No sir, not terrible. Not at all." When was Father Anthony going to leave him again to sniffle and sneeze in peace?**

**After eyeing the young man for a few quiet minutes, Father Anthony rose laboriously to his feet, frowning. "Sean m'boy, it is a glorious spring day. God has given us a gift!"**

**Sean simply nodded, unsure of what else to do. Father Anthony was an odd fellow. This was a man renown for his unorthodox ways…and Sean wasn't even sure if he had consulted with the Arch Diocese about Sean's peculiar living arrangements. "Yes, sir," he agreed tentatively, "beautiful."**

**"Then why are you sitting inside?" He thundered, a wry smile on his lined face. "Get out there and take a walk! Enjoy the city! Get the feel of it under your fingers, under your feet. New York City is like no other city in the world. Have you been out walking since you've got here?"**

**Sean shook his head. "N-no sir. I was busy…"**

**"Enough housekeeping, Father. Get your rear end outside for some fresh air, and that's an _order_!" **

**This sent Sean scurrying. "Yes sir!"**


	2. Part 2

**The city had not changed much in ten years. The buildings were a little taller, perhaps the streets a little cleaner. New stores had replaced those that Sean would have noticed as familiar. **

**The statue was still there. Well, of course it was. How silly. Ten years wasn't so terribly long, was it? Sean shook his head. Of course it was still there. Good old Horace Greeley…at least he could count on something to be the same.**

**Sean's eyes drifted across carefully stenciled windows. Wilson's Pharmacy. O'Donnell's Dry Goods. Murphy and Salinger, Attorneys at Law. But where was Tibby's? Sean lifted a hand, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. Third building on the left, wasn't it? His memory couldn't be _that_ bad… **

**Lancaster's Restaurant. **

**Inside Sean, the dam began to crack. **

**_The restaurant was crowded with boys, waiters flitting between them like nervous insects laden with trays of food. Bryan Denton was a generous man. Snoddy had never been so happy, never felt so alive. They'd beaten the scabs. Hell, not only that, they were on the front page of the paper. The front page! It was like some kind of crazy dream. _**__

**_Someone pushed a bottle into his hand and Snoddy took a long sip, savoring the whiskey as its warmth spread through his chest and belly. Oh yes, life was good. Jack fell into a chair nearby and grinned at him. "Can ya believe it, Snoddy? It's like we're famous or somethin'." _**__

**_Snoddy smirked. "Who woulda guessed us newsies would be gracin' the front page with our ugly mugs, huh?" He offered the bottle, and with one hand pounding Snoddy's back Jack accepted the liquor with the other. _**__

**_"Not me, that's for damn sure. Christ! The front page! "_**__

**He might as well go inside and have a bite to eat. It was far past noon and Sean's stomach was protesting loudly. The waiter showed him to an empty table, by the window as requested, and it wasn't long until Sean was feasting on a roast beef sandwich, surrounded by insistent memories. The inside of the place hadn't changed much. **

**_He had never been on a date before. He had already paced two laps around Tibby's when she finally stepped through the door, her hair spilling over her shoulder, the rays of a setting October sun making it glow like tongues of fire. Snoddy's breath caught in his throat, and all he could do was make his way up to her and offer his most charming smile. "I thought you stood me up." There. That wasn't so hard. What had Mush and Blink told him? Smooth. Suave. Calm and collected. That was the way to play it with girls like her._**__

**_"Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly as she led him to a booth and slid inside, "Audrey and Jack had a fight. Something to do with Sarah, I think. It's all very complicated, and I was stuck with shoulder-to-cry-on duty." She shook her head and grinned at him. "Love seems to be a lot of trouble, huh?"_**__

**_Love. Was this what this was? Snoddy had known her for years. They'd grown up together, matching black eyes and ink-stained fingers. So when had things changed? Why did Snoddy all of a sudden notice her blue eyes, her easy smile, her graceful body? That body. He dreamt about it now, how it would feel under his fingers, under his lips…_**__

**_They studied the menu in silence for a few minutes, though both knew it by heart. Snoddy's heart was beating so fast and so hard that he worried briefly that she would catch sight of it pounding away and laugh at him. Like she always did. Laugh and poke and tease, flashing a smile that all of a sudden made him dizzy. _**__

**_But of course she didn't. Instead, she tapped her teeth together, eyes wandering over food that was far to expensive for her to consider, dreaming of how it might taste. "I'm really not even that hungry," she sighed as she flung the menu onto the table, "can't we just go for a walk?" Her eyes drifted over his face and she paused, frowning. "Snoddy? Why are you looking at me like that?"_**__

**_And that was when he had kissed her._**__

**The roast beef was overcooked, tough and chewy, and the color of crumbling autumn leaves. Sean washed the rubbery meat down his throat with a large swallow of water, left a few crumpled dollars on his empty plate, and stepped out the door, eager to leave the place—and all the memories it held—behind. Silly stuff. A lifetime ago. Besides, now was not the time to think about kisses, God forbid. **

**Sean meant to return to his apartment after lunch, thinking that perhaps a full stomach might warrant some renewed vigor in putting his home together, but as he made his way down the sidewalk it was clear that his feet had a different plan. Before he could stop himself he was standing in front of a black door, so nondescript that anyone who wasn't aware of its existence wouldn't have even noticed it was there.**

**The gold-lettered sign was gone, and Sean could only guess that newsboys no longer lived there. Probably a private home now…perhaps transformed into apartments. Kloppman was most certainly dead, or at least too ancient to function and own a building. Sean sighed and reached up to brush his fingertips against the worn wooden door.**

**_"It clearly states in your parent's will their request that you go to Saint Mark's Seminary in Marblehead. Now Sean, don't make that face…you knew this was coming. I allowed you to have your freedom on those filthy streets—God only knows why you wanted that—with the understanding that upon turning eighteen you would go to Massachusetts. I was very, very lenient. This is what your parents, bless their souls, wanted. You know we must respect their memory."_**__

**_He knew. Ever since his birthday Sean knew this meeting with his great-aunt Katherine was inevitable. And now, sitting in her stuffy, tomb-like parlor with the May sunshine fighting to get through thick drapes, there was no way to escape his future. "Aunt Katherine," he began in earnest, "how can you expect me to go and become a priest after living a completely different life for so long? I like my life now. I—I've got friends, and I've got—"_**__

**_"What you do not have, young man, is a future. Selling newspapers? That will get you nowhere. You are eighteen years old—an adult—and I suggest you start acting like one." She peered at him over half-moon spectacles, the lines in her face deepening as she frowned. "You also do not have a say in this decision. Let me remind you that we made a deal. You could live in that boarding house and sell newspapers and have your independence as long as when you turned eighteen you went into the seminary." She turned to shuffle through a stack of papers that were sitting on a nearby table, sniffing slightly. "You are leaving on Friday morning at 7:45."_**__

**_"But—"_**__

**_"This is the end of this discussion, Sean. Thank you for coming. Good afternoon." _**__

**_He walked the streets alone for a long time that night, lingering outside until he knew that everyone in the lodging house would be asleep, turning his options over in his mind. He could run. It was easy to hide in this city. He could simply disappear into nothing. Aunt Katherine couldn't do much then._**__

**_He almost smiled at the idea, but then it hit him. He couldn't. Snoddy Elliot didn't have it in him to run, and what's worse, he knew it. There was no choice. He would be a good son and a good nephew and get on that train on Friday without so much as a word of dissent._**__

**_The seminary. What kind of life was waiting for him there, in that tiny seaside town that he was born in, yet knew nothing about? He could only guess. The books and the Latin and the theology and then…a priest? Snoddy wasn't even religious, though he knew his parents had been. Devout Catholics, the both of them. _**__

**_And now they were dead. And a couple of people who didn't even exist anymore were deciding Snoddy's life for him._**__

**_He kicked a pebble and rained curses onto the cobblestones, then turned to go home._**__

**_Life wasn't fair._**__

**_It was common knowledge that both Kloppman and Mrs. Fletcher, the owner of the Newsgirls Lodging House, absolutely forbid members of the opposite sex in their respective bunkrooms. Male-Female interaction was kept strictly to the parlor, and at designated times with proper chaperoning, thank you. We do not, Mrs. Fletcher declared to each and every new boarder who arrived, run a brothel. _**__

**_But Mrs. Fletcher was half-deaf, and Kloppman was half-crazy, and what the old pair didn't know wouldn't hurt them. And thanks to a little ingenuity on Skittery's part, the windows of the girl's bunkroom never seemed to lock quite properly. _**__

**_She was waiting for him, just like always, curled up in her bed by the window clutching a threadbare blanket, eyes wide and shining in the darkness. Her face was as pensive as his, as if she already knew something bad had happened. When he leaned down to kiss her gently on the forehead, she pulled him wordlessly into bed. Just for a minute. One of Snoddy's hands found her hair while the other drifted to rest on her jutting hipbone. She kissed his chin, fit one leg between his. Comfortable. Familiar. So this was what love was like. _**__

**_"Snoddy," she whispered after a long while, tracing invisible letters into his palm with a fingertip, writing out their life on his calluses and blisters, "tell me, what did your aunt say?"_**__

**_He had told her that afternoon that he was going to see his old ill-tempered aunt, his only living relative. He had told her that it was simply a visit. Nothing important. No, don't bothering coming. You stay and finish selling. Nothing important._**__

**_Rather than answering her, Snoddy turned and buried his face in her hair._**__

**_Two days later, with an insistent drizzle soaking his shoulders, Snoddy Elliot climbed onto a Boston bound train. He was wearing a new suit, a new hat, and there was new luggage waiting at his feet like shining, obedient dogs. _**__

**_He had said nothing to his friends, for every time the opportunity arose the goodbye and the explanation stuck painfully in his throat. Just as well, though Snoddy, just as well. They'll stop thinking about me and I'll stop thinking about them and we can go out separate ways. No painful good-byes, no questions, no nothing. A clean break. He had left a few hours before dawn, and no one had noticed him go._**__

**_Snoddy tried to convince himself that the water in his eyes was just allergies as the train pulled away from the station. But when the tears began to roll down his cheeks, he did not stop them._**__


	3. Part 3

**"Oh! Excuse me!"**

**Sean had been so deep within the past that he failed to notice the man that had collided with him rather roughly. He stood blinking dumbly at him as the fellow jabbered on about the city and the crowds and God knew what else.**

**"…And nowadays there just isn't enough room on these sidewalks to even walk with _one_ companion, much less two, and that being a child. So really, if you wanted to blame anyone, you'd blame my daughter…but of course that's ridiculous, and—" The man stopped abruptly in his inane soliloquy, mouth agape. "Wait a minute. I know you…S-Snoddy?"**

**At the mention of his old nickname, reality came rushing back to Sean. He studied the man before him intently. Brown curly hair was hidden under a tidy gray bowler, and impossibly blue eyes peered out at him curiously. Oh God, was he still imaging things? **

**"David Jacobs?" asked Snoddy slowly, praying that the past would stay where it belonged. Please let this be a figment of his imagination. Please.**

**David let out a shout. "My God, that _is_ you, isn't it? Snoddy Elliot! I--I thought you were dead!"**

**"Alive and well, thank God," said Snoddy weakly as David pounded him exuberantly on the back, "alive and well."**

**"What an amazing coincidence, bumping into you on the street like this. It's gotta be what, _ten years_ since I saw you last?" **

**"Well…I just moved back to the city and—"**

**"Is that right? That's swell, just swell!" David briefly wondered where it was that Snoddy had disappeared to so long ago, leaving in the middle of the night without so much as a word, making everyone crazy with worry. But someone calling his name made David's thoughts turn to other things. "How can I be so rude? This is my wife, Cyanne. Our daughter…" He scooped the chipmunk cheeked four-year-old who had been lingering beside him onto his hip and pushed unruly curls from her cerulean eyes. "Say hello to Daddy's friend, Esther." Instead of a hello, the girl buried her sticky face into her father's shoulder. Sean felt the color drain from his face. _A daughter._ **

**David shrugged good-naturedly and turned to his wife, a smiling woman with hair the color of cocoa. "Cy, this is my old friend. I don't think you two ever met…he left New York a few months before you got here. Snoddy—or would you prefer Sean now?" David slid his free arm around Cyanne's waist and smiled eagerly.**

**"It looks like he'd prefer _Father_ Sean, David." She interrupted with a mischievous grin, noting what her husband had apparently overlooked. David's eyes dropped downward to Sean's priestly collar, flashing realization and shock. **

**"A priest? My _God_, Snoddy…you can't be serious! A _priest?_" **

**Sean couldn't help but crack a smile at his friend's astonishment. He shrugged. "A priest."**

**"But…wow. _Wow._ How on earth did _that_ happen?"**

**Snoddy opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a sudden shout. "MOMMY! I'm HUNGRY! Go now? Go! Now!" Esther, it appeared, had had enough, and was now thrashing around in her father's arms like a caught fish. **

**Cyanne laughed and touched David's shoulder. "We actually should be getting her home to take a nap, David. Maybe your friend will join us for dinner? It looks like you've got a lot of catching up to do."**

**"Great idea. Please say you'll come?" David asked, turning to Sean expectantly.**

**_No_****, thought Sean, _this hurt quite enough. A wife? A child? Dinner would be…_ "Wonderful. I'd love to." Plastic smile. Why was he agreeing?**

**"Our apartment's a few blocks down. 120 Mott St, apartment 24. Let's say…six o'clock?"**

**"Perfect," said Sean. Inside, a civil war raged. _No._****__**

**"Great. See you then!" With that they were off, strolling down the street, Cyanne and David swinging Esther by her chubby little arms between them. Husband, wife, child. The perfect trinity. **

**Sean unclenched his fists and turned in the other direction.**

**The muffled sound of laughter and raucous conversation made Sean's stomach drop to the soles of his sensible shoes, but before he could turn and hurry down the hallway the door to the apartment opened widely.**

**"Sean!" Cyanne exclaimed, her cheeks flushed the color of roses with wine and good company. "Finally! We thought you had maybe changed your mind!"**

**He almost had. Sean had stalked the streets for half an hour before, tried to tell himself how bad this would be, how teasing, how tempting. How it would make him think of the past and all the sins that were lingering there, just waiting for him to come upon them again. _Oh God, please protect me…_ "I'm sorry, there were matters at the church that needed my attention…I haven't kept you waiting, have I?"**

**David's grinning face appeared over Cyanne's shoulder then, and he scoffed at Sean's question. "Are you kidding? We _had_ to start dinner. These bums were about to tear the kitchen apart." He kissed Cyanne's shoulder and beckoned his friend inward. "Come in! I've got a few surprises for you." The door shut firmly behind Sean with a terrible and decisive thud. _Trapped._ And yet, there was a twinge of excitement that Sean couldn't help feel to accompany the fear. Surprises?**

**The apartment was everything a home should look like. The walls were painted a deep forest green, and a cozy living room full of overstuffed furniture led to a modest kitchen around the corner that radiated warmth and laughter. Sean stood there, twisting his fingers around themselves and smiling uncertainly. **

**David patted him on the shoulder. It was hard not to notice his old friend's sudden awkwardness, as strange as such a feeling seemed at this moment. Shouldn't he be _happy?_ "Welcome to our home."**

**The sound of the closing door had caused a trio of heads to appear in the kitchen doorway. "My _God_, Davey, I thought you were kidding!"**

**"He really is a priest!"**

**"Snoddy Elliot, you haven't changed a bit!" **

**Sean suddenly found that he could not longer swallow. Or breathe. Or speak. So instead, he simply stared at Jake O'Casey, Specs Seymour and Crutchy Patterson as they grinned back at him like rosy-cheeked specters. **

**In a moment they had deserted their positions around the kitchen table and surrounded Sean, pelting him with questions and comments like they had used to do with snowballs every winter storm. In turn he greeted and hugged each one with sincerity, albeit a bit numbly, and was then led into the kitchen where he found more surprises, these in the form of three women sitting expectantly where they're respective companions had deserted them a moment ago.**

**"Girls, look. Can ya believe your eyes? Snoddy Elliot. _Father_ Snoddy, actually. A God damn priest!"**

**Before he could recognize any of the women Sean was surprised to feel a pair of slim arms wrapping themselves around him tightly. "Snoddy! They told me you were back but…God, it's been a long time!"**

**The arms loosened their grip enough for Sean to catch sight of their owner's face: sparkling green eyes framed by a think fringe of lashes, that beauty mark on her right cheek… "Sneaks O'Halloran!" He drew her away even more so he could take full stock. "Why, you're all grown up! Look at you, in a skirt and everything, with your hair all nice."**

**Sneaks grinned, and for a moment Sean caught a glimpse of the dirty, acid tongued Brooklyn pickpocket he had known ten years before. "Jake told me I had to start dressin' like a girl if I ever wanted him to propose to me." She held up her left hand, a small emerald twinkling in the light, and laughed.**

**"Engaged!" Sean remarked, slightly in awe, "That's great. I always knew you two would be together forever."**

**Sneaks and Jake exchanged smiles across the kitchen and Specs rolled his eyes. "She may look like a girl, but don't be fooled. O'Halloran still curses like a sailor."**

**Sneaks stuck out her tongue and took a sip of wine. "Gimme a break, Specs. You're girl don't have the cleanest mouth either. I've heard her."**

**Sean assumed said girl was the short, unfamiliar one perched on the counter, because as soon as Sneaks shut her mouth the stranger turned pink to the tips of her ears. Specs elbowed his way over to her and snaked a protective arm around her waist, pulling a coffee colored curl as he did so. "Sure she does." He glanced toward Sean with a grin. "This is Olivia, by the way. She's a little shy."**

**Olivia looked even more mortified and shoved Specs gently. "Don't _say_ that! Nice to meet you, Father." She said to Sean, studying him intently with eerie, pale blue eyes that made Sean feel like she could see right into his soul. **

**Such a formal address made the entire assemblage burst into laughter, and Crutchy was the first to recover. "A priest," he said incredulously, shaking his head, "ya know, I always knew there was somethin' holy about you, Snoddy. I always said…"**

**"Something holy about 'im?" Half-Pint Monfredo interjected from her spot by the window where she was dangling a cigarette out into the cool night. She turned to Sean, and he was surprised to see a considerable swell where her flat stomach had once been. _Pregnant?_ "Andrew Patterson, are you nuts? Are we thinkin' about the same guy? Snoddy Elliot drank, gambled, and wrecked general havoc with the best of 'em." She chuckled slightly. "And the girls! Not very priestly activities, I don't think, unless you was hearing their confessions in those dark alleys." **

**Sean blushed crimson and could only shrug in silence as Cyanne handed him a plate heaping with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. "Now Half-Pint," David said with a mischievous grin, "if I remember correctly, it was only _one_ girl. At least one that was anythin' serious."**

**"_Lizzie Connors_!" Crowed Sneaks, "I remember! You two were hot an' heavy until…" She stopped, her face twisting almost imperceptibly._ Until you disappeared and left the poor girl without so much as a word_.**

**"Until you just up an' ran out. Jesus, Snoddy, you had every newsie in Manhattan lookin' for your sorry behind!" Leave it to Crutchy to take it one step further when everyone else in the room was trying their hardest to avoid that topic of conversation. Half-Pint shot her husband a look of bewilderment. _Don't you know when to quit, even after all these years?_****__**

**An uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen, and Sean cleared his throat as he poked at his food, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. "Well. I ah…didn't have much of a choice. And once I was in the seminary I couldn't really contact anyone…"**

**"Of course not," said Cyanne with a reassuring smile, "and no one blames you, I'm sure." She shot a glare to her friends, all of whom expertly avoided her blazing eyes. _They better not blame him._ She didn't know details, of course, but this was not the time for such a conversation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion, not a bitter one.**

**"I can't believe you're all still friends, after all these years," said Sean after he swallowed a few bites of potatoes. "What happened to everyone else? Jack, Skittery, Racetrack, Boots, Blink…"**

**The other men in the room exchanged glances over Sean's unassuming head, but it was Half-Pint who finally supplied the words. "They're mostly still around. Jack, Skittery, Spot, Boots, a few other boys you knew." She paused to examine the glowing tip of her cigarette, her voice touched with some emotion Sean couldn't recognize. **

**"And where are they?"**

**"…In the city. Manhattan, I think." **

**"So what, are you guys not in touch with them anymore?"**

**At that Half-Pint fell silent, turning her full attention to David, her dark eyes wide, plainly pleading with him to take over the apparently painful explanation. He sighed, drained his glass, and replaced it on the table. "Those boys…they decided on a life different than ours."**

**"A different life?" asked Sean, "what does _that_ mean?"**

**"Well…see us here. Me, Crutchy, Jake, Specs…a few other old guys who you know, we all decided to grow up proper, get jobs, get married, have families."**

**"And the rest of them?" Sean did not like where this was going at all. **

**"They've chosen to stay on the streets, more or less. Nothing serious, as far as I know. Gambling, robbery, blackmail, small-time stuff." David's face took on a slightly anguished quality to it. "Sometimes I see Jack, here and there. Still the fearless leader, I'd gather. We're still both polite enough to say hello, but that's where it ends."**

**Sean frowned. "So they've turned into criminals. That's…why, that's terrible."**

**"Sure it is," said Specs with a shrug, "but no one really blame's 'em. I mean, look how we all grew up. It's a wonder any of us turned out normal at all." He cracked a smile that seemed to lift some of the tension that had gathered above their heads like storm clouds. **

**"I don't know. I think they could've done fine, like us. They just didn't want to work hard. They didn't want to make an effort," said David scornfully. **

**Cyanne walked behind him and rubbed his shoulders. "We don't need to talk about this. Everyone knows how everyone feels about those boys. Bringing it up'll just cause us more grief. We can't change their minds for them." She sent a small, slightly wicked smile toward Sean. "If they could see you now, Snoddy. A priest! I bet that'd knock 'em right on their asses."**

**Everyone laughed, and the good mood was magically restored, whatever darker emotions that were present a moment ago pushed aside. Sean found his worries and fears slipping away like unwanted shackles, and by the time everyone rose to leave many hours later he discovered with slight surprise that he was reluctant to go. **

**It was like the last ten years had never happened. No one had called him _Father_ in hours. Hell, they hadn't even called him _Sean_. **

**The pleasant feeling lasted until he returned home to be faced with his dark and empty apartment, a half-built bookshelf laying in pieces on the bare wood floor. It was then that the guilt came, stifling him, wave after relentless wave leaving him breathless. Oh, all the impure thoughts. The jealousy. The bitterness.**

**Of course, God knew that Sean had been desperately wishing to be free of the burden—yes he had called it a burden! How ungrateful, how spiteful—of being a priest the moment he walked into David Jacobs' homey little apartment. **

**God knew everything. **

**Sean fell to his knees before a still-open window and clasped his hands together, offering his tormented face for the cool night breeze to caress. _Forgive me Holy Father, for now I realize that there is nothing more satisfying than being your servant. Nothing on earth. _And then he confessed it all, and hoped that God could forgive him for being so unappreciative and weak.**


	4. Part 4

**After that night, Father Sean threw himself into his work at the church, avoiding going outdoors at all costs for fear he would run into David or, God forbid, the others. There was plenty to keep him busy within the thick, safe walls of the church, anyway. Saint Benedict's was a tiny parish compared to others in the city, and though the people in the neighborhood loved it dearly, the old stone church had fallen into disrepair both inside and out.**

**Sean never thought that mopping floors, whitewashing fences, and dusting furniture would be part of being a priest. He did not feel very holy. No, not very holy at all.**

**But the plan only worked for so long. When the dust became too much for his temperamental sinuses to bear, Sean had no choice but to escape outside into the welcoming arms of the warm spring weather, as much as he did not want to. April suited the city well—the leaves on the trees were beginning to gain life, and here and there Sean caught sight of crocuses and tulips poking their heads out of the ground. He did love the spring, allergies be damned. **

**As he wove his way through a particularly busy lunchtime crowd, Sean paused at a fruit vendor's stall and reached for an apple, his empty stomach in loud complaint. The woman behind the mountain of fruit had her back turned to him, and Sean tried in vain to get her attention for a few laborious minutes.**

**"Just take it."**

**The murmured suggestion made Sean's head snap up, and when he saw who was offering it up his jaw dropped. Jack Kelly grinned at him and took a bite of the half-eaten apple in his hand. "Heya Snoddy."**

**Sean could find no words, and Jack seemed to notice. He glanced at the apple in his old friend's hand. "Go on and take it," he said again, his voice coarse, as if the intermittent years had weathered it relentlessly, "she won't notice. It's just one apple." The vendor's back was still turned. She was arguing with a neighbor in a language Sean did not recognize. **

**Deliberately Sean set the apple back on the shelf and turned to his old friend, affixing what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Jack Kelly, I see you haven't changed a bit."**

**"And I see you have." Jack's laughing eyes studied Sean's somber black attire. "How long have you been back in town?"**

**Sean opened his mouth, then caught himself and smirked. _Smirked_. The effect Jack had on him was instantaneous. Sean hadn't had anything to smirk about in years. "You know how long I've been back. I'm also sure you know what I'm doing, where I'm living, and that I had dinner with a few old friends the other night."**

**Jack looked immensely pleased as the pair began to stroll down the sidewalk, so easily falling into the old pattern of leader and follower. "Well well, Snoddy…maybe you haven't changed so much after all. Can't take the city out of the man…however that saying goes. You still the same good ol' boy who disappeared ten years ago? Huh? "**

**Sean shook his head. "No. No, I don't think so. Ten years does a lot to a person, ya know?" He sounded, to his own surprise and slight disdain, _sad.___**

**"I know…but ten years as a _priest_. Now, that's _really_ gotta do somethin' to a guy." Jack stopped to examine a few pale daffodils, and the little girl offering them brightened considerably at the sight of a potential customer.**

**"Well…it _has_ done something to me. Something good. It's made me a better man. It's made me realize the important things in life," said Sean carefully.**

**"The important things," snorted Jack, pressing a nickel into the girl's hand and plucking a few flowers off the cart, "right. Sure." He turned suddenly to Sean. "So, Father Sean Elliot. Would you be to busy in your holy ways to join me and a few boys for a drink tonight?"**

**"Well—" Sean stammered, his mind reeling, "I don't know…" The part that was still Snoddy, the part that was finally shaking off the dust of ten years spent in the attics of his mind had never heard of something that he wanted to do more. Drinks with the boys! Just like old times…**

**And then Father Sean made his voice known. Father Sean, who was so dedicated to his morals, so dedicated to being a _priest_, so afraid of the mistakes that lingered so close. Like an angry parent, the dull growl thrummed through Sean's head. _You're a priest! Servant of God, of the Church. You cannot fall back to your sinful ways…___**

**"Come _on_," said Jack in that persuasive tone of his, eyes gleaming with amusement, like he could see the battle within Sean and was positively tickled by it. "I can only imagine the ridiculous stories David and those other guys must have told ya about us. Horrible stuff, I'm sure, and mostly false, if I know those guys. Snoddy, we're your old friends. I think you can make your own decisions about us, don't you? And besides …one little drink ain't gonna send you to hell." He smiled, and the surprisingly genuine nature of the expression made Sean's chest constrict. **

**"I guess not…"**

**"Great! You remember MacBride's? That little pub we all used to waste our pennies at?"**

**Sean nodded. He remembered. All too well. **

**"Let's say there…about nine? That okay?"**

**Another nod. Jack could've said just about anything and Sean would've nodded in agreement, like a puppet on strings. **

**"Good," said Jack, and squeezed Sean's shoulder with his free hand. "I'll see ya then."**

**And then he was gone, as easily as he had appeared, walking jauntily off, twirling the flowers in his hand, stopping to tip his hat at a giggling young lady before he disappeared around the corner.**

**Sean had been sitting alone in MacBride's Pub for half an hour when he felt a sharp tap on the shoulder. Turning, he set his face in what he hoped would be a disappointed expression. How dare Jack keep him waiting for so long, when he was the one who invited Sean in the first place! Twenty-seven and still the boy had no grasp of _manners_.**

**But the man whom Sean came face to face with was not Jack Kelly. It was not anyone he knew at all. He was old, with a deeply wrinkled face, heavy jowls, and small, pink-rimmed eyes. His nose was bulbous and red, and when he opened his mouth Sean caught a glimpse of a few graying teeth. "Pardon me, Father, but are ye lookin' for one Jack Kelly?" Sean nodded slightly, drawing something that might have been a smile from the old man. "Ah, that's what I thought. Why didn't ya say somethin' before?"**

**"I…what?" Sean was thoroughly confused. Say something?**

**The man chuckled and beckoned Sean to rise from his chair. "Sorry for the confusion. Now, this way, if ya will." He seized Sean's elbow with a surprisingly firm grip and led the puzzled young man toward a curtain-covered doorway at the back of the crowded room. "Right in 'ere, Father." He pushed the shabby fabric aside and twisted his face into a smile again. Blinking, Sean stepped over the threshold.**

**"Here 'e is, speak of the Devil!" Before the curtain had even fallen shut behind Sean, the room erupted in shouting.**

**It was an unadorned space, small and warm and packed, with a few tables situated here and there. Peering around, Sean recognized a few faces, but all he could do was glance before Jack demanded his full attention, striding up to stand before Sean, pushing a glass of brown liquor into his hand. "We thought maybe you chickened out, Snoddy."**

**"I've been here since nine o'clock. You never told me I had to say something to the bartender…"**

**Jack looked momentarily apologetic. "I didn't? Sorry pal, I'm used to people just knowing…" He shook his head, flicking on that charming smile. "Oh well. No harm done, right? C'mere, sit down. Everyone wants to see you." He pushed an overwhelmed Sean to a nearby table and into an empty chair. "Well boys," said Jack, addressing the assembled, "what did I tell ya? A priest." He glanced at Racetrack, with a sly grin. "You owe me ten, Higgins."**

**Racetrack Higgins had not changed much as far as looks went in the past ten years. He was still rather short, had a head full of well-oiled black hair, and the brass chain of a pocket watch still dangled from his pocket. Sean guessed his gambling habits hadn't changed much either as he watched the grumbling young man slap a ten-dollar bill down onto the table. "I can't believe you!" He shouted accusingly at Sean, though a joking grin was stretching his lips, "how in the hell did _you_ become a God damn Priest?"**

**Sean shrugged and opened his mouth to provide an explanation, only to be cut off by Jack.**

**"That's what _I_ said when I first heard. I mean, who here _doesn't_ remember all the crazy stuff Snoddy Elliot did back when we was younger?" He elbowed Sean, wiggling his eyebrows, and Sean couldn't help but laugh at his friend's adolescent disposition.**

**"You picked pockets better'n Snitch!" Recalled Racetrack, and, upon hearing his name from his place a table over, Snitch Campbell tried to get to his feet in vain, his movement hampered by a pretty girl with a catching smile sitting in his lap. She patted him on the knee consolingly as he made a face at Snoddy, chuckling. **

**"No one picked pockets better'n me!"**

**"You knew how to jimmy a lock better than anyone else too," commented Skittery Harper, who had just slid into a nearby seat. He nodded at his old friend with a smile that was somewhat disfigured by the mess of stitches hunched like a centipede above his black and blue eye. **

**Sean grinned and shook Skittery's offered hand exuberantly. "If I remember right, Skittery, _you_ were the one who was good at making locks mysterious unable to do their job." **

**Taffee O'Mailey appeared behind Skittery and smirked as she placed another tumbler of whiskey in front of their guest, which he downed without hesitating. "And if _I _remember right, it was always the locks to the window's of the girl's house that never seemed to work." **

**Skittery turned and pulled the girl into his lap with a roar. "Coincidence!"**

**There was laughter around the table, and conversation rolled easily onward, natural as the waves lapping against sand. Sean wrapped the comfortable and familiar scene around him like a blanket, the ever-present tension in the muscles of his neck and shoulders draining away with every sip of whiskey he took. **

**He sat back in his chair and stretched, peering around the dim room as he did. Beyond the heads of those who sat with him, Sean could see Snitch sitting across the room; the pickpocket was laughing with a few young men and women Sean did not quite recognize. Jack followed Sean's interested gaze and tipped his glass toward the strangers. "Killian Shea's from Chicago. Joined up with us about a month ago," he said as he motioned toward a tall, dangerous looking fellow whose scowl was etching deep lines on his sharp face. "Butcher…maybe you remember him, he was in Brooklyn when you were still around, I think," continued Jack, his attention shifting to a curly haired, barrel-chested youth who at that moment was laughing heartily at something someone had said. "He came with Spot six years ago after they were kindly asked to leave the borough. Spot brought 'is girl Anne Foley, too…not surprisingly." Jack smiled slightly as Spot Conlon caught his eye and stood, making his way over to them. **

**He had grown since Sean last saw him, now tall, slightly gangly. His bright eyes were still striking, and that absurd cane was still shoved jauntily through one belt loop. His face was much the same too, save for a savage looking scar that marred his once-smooth cheek, curling up around his ear like a serpent. "Elliot," grunted Spot as he offered a hand and a signature smirk to Sean, " I see you've actually made somethin' of yourself. Unlike the rest of us bums." **

**"Made something of myself?" Laughed Sean, shrugging as Spot settled himself into a chair near Jack, "well, even if you wanted to call it that…it certainly wasn't by choice."**

**He balked then, setting his glass down as he realized the words he'd just said so flippantly. _Lord God, I know not what I do…___**

**No one seemed to notice his strange reaction, and before Sean could think further on the subject he felt a kiss on his cheek. "Hello, stranger,"**

**Tuesday something smiled down at him and Sean tried his best to smile back as he struggled with the words he had just uttered. The result was not appealing. "Why, Tuesday…"**

**"Please," she laughed, "I'm a grown woman now. It's Audrey."**

**"Audrey," said Sean softly. He liked it. A good name.**

**Whereas all the boys the young priest had meet up with again looked curiously the same, the girls had flourished like hothouse flowers. No longer painfully thin with jutting bones and sharp angles, the women he saw now looked healthy and round, with pleasant curves and long, well-kept hair, and most importantly, clothed in dresses and skirts. After years of being tomboys and street rats, the girls had finally figured out that they were, in fact, female under all that dirt. **

**Audrey leaned down again as if to scoop up his empty glass and whispered in his ear, "she's still around, you know. In the back room, scraping together some dinner." She straightened, gave Sean a secret smile, and disappeared.**

**Sean's collar felt suddenly very tight. There was no question as to who Audrey was speaking of. Ten years wasn't that long, it seemed, for anyone.**

**He turned then to Jack, about to tell him that he had to leave. Immediately. _Forgot some other appointment. People waiting. Completely slipped my mind. You know, responsibility…_ That would work fine. And then Sean would get up and get the hell out of here, out of this bar and away from these people, all these faces that were reminders of a person he once was, a life he once had, a life he wanted gone completely.**

**Why had he come? A silent prayer formed in his racing mind. _Give me strength to rise above, most Holy Father…_But as Sean was opening his mouth to speak, he discovered that Jack was deep in conversation, with what appeared to be him. **

**"…And that's how I heard that you were back in town, and that David Jacobs had snagged you for dinner with the rest of his crew." Jack downed the rest of his liquor in one easy gulp. " I couldn't have you going around having such a one-sided opinion of us. Plus, we all missed you, plain and simple." **

**Sean blinked at him, having a hard time following through the haze of his own thoughts. "One sided opinion?"**

**"Yeah," said Jack, watching him closely, "Of us." He swept his arm to encompass the whole room. "Of my little group." There was an unmistakable touch of pride in his voice.**

**"Well…I don't," Sean lied. _Lying was a sin.___**

**Jack snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "Come on, Snoddy…I can just imagine what our little Davey told ya. 'A bunch of criminals', he says. 'Life of debauchery and vice', he says. 'Haven't grown up a bit' he says…" he looked at Sean expectantly, as if to say, _I'm right, aren't I?___**

**It was surprising how close Jack was. How, after all these years, he still knew David Jacobs so well. Not that Sean would ever admit to it. "Look Jack," he began, "I'm a grown man. I make my own decisions."**

**"Oh sure," said Jack, his expression one of cynicism, "sure. I ain't saying you don't. But you know how persuasive Davey Jacobs is. I hear he's a big lawyer now. Some hotshot. Wife and kid and everything, the perfect little life."**

**Did Jack sound angry? Jealous? Sean narrowed his eyes but remained silent, and Jack steamed along on one of his favorite topics to rant and rumble about. "Ya know, we ain't a bad group of guys. Not even bad enough to call us a real _gang_. We do what we gotta do to survive. And if that entails illegal things…" Jack couldn't help smirking a little, "then so be it."**

**"But nothing to bad, right Jack?" Asked Sean, "Nothing _to _bad? Because I couldn't just stand by…I mean," he laughed nervously, "I am a _priest_, after all…"**

**"Snoddy," said Jack as he laid a reassuring hand on Sean's forearm, "you _know_ us. We aren't bad guys. We do what we gotta do."**

**Sean nodded, half-believing the speech—_wanting,_ more than anything, to believe the speech—and Jack smiled irresistibly. "I mean really, would we really want a priest around if we was so terrible? …And trust me, we _do_ want you around." Jack's tone suddenly became softer, a little sad. "I say this for everyone when I say I really missed ya, Snoddy. You tore us apart when you just up and disappeared. We all thought the worst."**

**Sean rose resolutely. _Time to go. Ignore the tightness in your chest. Ignore the sting behind your eyes. It is getting past that point. Much longer and you'll be ruined forever…_ "Thanks for the drink, Jack."**

**Jack nodded, unspoken questions in his hazel eyes. "You're always welcome, Father Sean."**

**As Sean bid goodbye to the rest of the crew and made his way out of the bar and into the damp night air, he had a sinking, sick sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach that Jack's invitation would certainly not be ignored**.


	5. Part 5

Snoddy was no more than fifteen feet away from the door of MacBride's when a voice shot out of the darkness behind him. A voice. No..._ her_ voice.

"Sean Elliot, you stop right there."

So he did. As much as the practical part of his mind was demanding that he keep walking, Snoddy found his feet halting their journey up the street. Trying to work spit into his suddenly cotton-dry mouth, he turned around.

She was marching up to him, arms folded over her chest to ward off the chill in the air. Maybe even to make herself look tough. She did, after all, hate to look otherwise. Or at least, she used to. Her hair was loose and bobbed, an auburn frame for her porcelain face that seemed to glow in the moonlight. Sean could not help smiling at the sight of Lizzie Connors. Even after all those years. She looked better than he remembered, if that was possible. "Hello, Lizzie. You... look... g-great..."

"_I look great?_" Spat Lizzie, "That's all you have to say to me? That I look great?" She had stopped her marching, and now stood close. Very close. Snoddy could smell her perfume. Lilac.

"W-what?" He couldn't understand her anger. Couldn't fit his mind around why her eyes were blazing like they were lit from within, why her fists were clenched so tight the knuckles were turning white. Everyone else had been happy to see him. Happy to put the past behind them, and forgive Snoddy for disappearing ten years before. "Lizzie, I don't–"

"What, understand? You don't understand?" She didn't bother to wait for an answer, but her words softened some, much to her disappointment. Damn him. Damn Snoddy Elliot for chasing her anger away so easily. Without doing a single thing except stand there and look adorably perplexed. "Ten years ago you left me in the middle of the night without an explanation. Not a single God damn word. And now you waltz back into Manhattan like it's the most natural thing in the world, and have nothing of substance to say to me" She paused, then flung an accusing index finger into the darkness between them. "And you're a priest. A God damn _priest._ And you have _nothing_ to say except 'hello, Lizzie, you look great.'"

Snoddy blinked. He shoved his hands into his pockets, for lack of anything better to do. "Lizzie I...I'm sorry." He lifted his shoulders helplessly and chanced a peek at her face.

"I thought you were dead, Snoddy. I _mourned_ you," said Lizzie with a voice edged in defeat. This was too much. It was like having a conversation with a ghost. "You...broke my heart." Perfect. That was the last thing she wanted to say. Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut and started to curse her quick tongue, but was interrupted when an arm wrapped itself around her waist from behind.

"There you are, baby. You ran outta there so fast, I thought I lost ya forever."

The owner of the voice materialized behind Lizzie as if formed from the mist that had gathered in the night air. He was tall and broad, and had a hat pulled low over his eyes. There was the distinct air of _thug _about him; a menacing, I'll-slit-your-throat-if-you-look-at-me-wrong kind of thug."Who the hell are you?" He demanded flatly, and Snoddy imagined that the man's eyes had an unkind gleam to them as they studied the priest.

"Just an old friend," Lizzie said quickly, patting the man's forearm. Then she squirmed away from his grasp and smiled tightly. "Sno–" She stopped, frowned, then tried again. This man standing before her wasn't_ Snoddy_. No. Not anymore. "Father Sean Elliot, this is Mick Hurley. My–"

"Fiancé," interrupted Mick, supplying the word that Lizzie was suddenly having trouble saying. He extended a hand, and Snoddy shook it weakly.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hurley." He turned to Lizzie then, not even bothering to try and mask the anguished expression that was painting his face. "Well. It was–um... it was nice to see you again, Lizzie. Goodnight."

Before anyone could utter another word, the priest turned and fled down the dark sidewalk, his hands still pressed into his pockets, shoulders hunched. Mick watched him go with dull interest, then pinched his fiance's behind. "Strange fella. A priest, huh?" He snorted. "Wouldn't never expect a priest to be hangin' around the likes of Jack Kelly and friends. How d'ya know him?"

The couple started to walk in the opposite direction. "We grew up together, a hundred lifetimes ago." She paused and tucked her arm into the crook of Mick's. " I wouldn't say I _know_ him," she said, and then a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips.

"Not anymore."


	6. part 6

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession."

"Go on . . . "

"Father, I . . . I'm a normal kid. I mean, guy. I'm a normal sixteen-year-old guy . . . "

Sean sighed at the quaking, cracking voice that was struggling to find words on the other side of the metal screen. "Yes, go on . . . "

"What I'm trying to say is, I have impure thoughts, Father. For this girl, who lives down the hall from me. She's beautiful, Father. She's got theseeyes that just...oh, God. I love hereyes.But–what I wanted to ask you is, is that really that bad? I mean, doesn't everyone think like that, sometimes? It's what makes us human, right?"

Sean lifted his chin from where it had been resting on clasped hands, face one of slight surprise. "Well . . . "

"I mean," the faceless youth cut in quickly, "you're a man. Just like any other guy . . . don't _you_ have them, once in awhile? I mean I know you're a priest an' everything but . . . "

Sean's collar suddenly felt very tight. "Well . . . " he choked out, "I suppose as long . . . as long as you don't _act_ on these impure thoughts, things will be okay." He could hear the boy make a rather satisfied sound of agreement, to which Sean was quick to cut short by intoning, "but do try and keep those impure thoughts to a minimum. They _are_ a sin, after all."

"Oh, of course, Father. I will."

Sean shifted uncomfortably on his hard seat. "Anything else?" he asked, praying that the answer would be in the negative.

"I...stole fifteen cents from my mother's purse the other day. To go to the Nickelodeon."

Fifteen cents? Nickelodeons' only cost a nickel. Sean opened his mouth to say as much, but then snapped it shut. All he wanted, really, was to get that kid and his inappropriate questions on impure thoughts out of there. "Stealing is a sin, and what's worse is stealing from your parents, who love you and provide for you," he said flatly, then made the sign of the cross with his hand in from of the screen. "Your penance is three Hail Mary's and two Our Father's. Go in peace."

After he was positive the young man was gone, Sean burst out of the confessional gasping like a drowning man. He wiped his face and leaned against the mahogany structure. Saturday's were the worst day of the week. Hearing all those people pour their hearts out, telling Sean sins that he had no place to reprimand, having committed, or at the very least thought about committing, them in some form himself rather recently. It was on Saturdays that Sean felt most like a pretender. A liar. A fraud.

From across the pews, Father Dominic appraised his young companion with a concerned stare. "Father Sean?"

Sean's head jerked up, and he tried to look unaffected. "Yes, Father Dominic?"

"Why don't you step into my office for a moment? You look like you need to talk to someone instead of just listening."

"So," began the elderly priest as he settled himself into a chair stationed behind a desk of considerable size, "I've been worried about you lately, Sean."

Having lowered himself into a chair of his own, Sean glanced warily at his peer. "Worried, sir?"

"Yes, Sean. Worried. Tell me, is the priesthood turning out how you thought it would?" Father Dominic pressed his gnarled fingers into a steeple and appraised Sean with a relentless stare.

"I–well . . . yes, sir. Yes, it is." Father Dominic raised a bushy eyebrow at this hollow statement, and Sean sighed, knowing he was caught in the lie. He shifted uneasily in his chair and avoided the old priest's avid gaze. "No," admitted Sean finally, with a defeated sigh, "no, I guess being a priest has not turned out to be what I thought it would. Not at all. Not even close." He pressed his lips shut and waited for the reprimand to come. Instead, his comment was met with laughter. Father Dominic was shaking his head, a bemused smile lighting up his face.

Sean's mouth all but dropped open.

As the old priest glanced up and caught the expression on Sean's face, he chuckled more. "Oh, shut your mouth, boy. What did you think I was going to do, assign corporal punishment?" He leaned back, the chair squeaking in protest. "If you had said that being a priest was everything you expected, I would have been considerably more surprised. You're a young man, Sean. How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight, sir. Not so young, any more."

More laughter issued from the portly priest. "Not so young, he says! My boy, twenty-eight years of life is nothing. You'll realize that, when you're old and fat and grey, like me. Twenty-eight..." he repeated, as if he was relishing in the taste of the numbers, the feel of them on his tongue, "I was twenty-eight when I got married."

It took all the will-power Sean possessed not to fall off his chair. He stared, bug-eyed at Father Dominic, who was too busy gazing wistfully off into the distance to notice Sean's reaction. "_Married_, sir?" He finally managed to choke out, almost positive that he had heard wrong. _Married?_

"Yes, Sean. Married. To the most beautiful girl on Staten Island . . . " he paused to assess the result of his words, and was not surprised at what he saw. "Why is your jaw unhinged? Is it that shocking to imagine me married to a beautiful woman?"

Sean cracked a smile at this and shook his head. "No, no . . . I just didn't know that–"

" . . . that I had a real life before coming to the Church? That I was a real person, who loved and sinned and _lived_?" He glanced at his folded fingers, then back at the gaping young man across the desk. "Well, believe it, boy. And it was a good life, too. It was a great life."

"W-what happened?" ventured Sean, hesitancy coloring his voice.

It was Father Dominic's turn to avoid a stare. He turned to glance out a sunlit window. "She died."

"Oh," said Sean quietly, knowing he should drop the obviously painful subject but, pushed by his inherent street-rat curiosity, asking instead, "how?"

Father Dominic turned his usually lively brown eyes toward him, and Sean was sad to see how flat they looked now. "She was killed. Murdered. Someone burglarized our home and found her to be in the way of his plans. We had been married for three years. She was two months' pregnant." The finality of the words came though loud and clear to Sean, who commenced chewing on his lower lip.

"I-I'm sorry."

"I'm not telling you this because I want your pity, Sean. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that you have a choice."

"Sir?"

The old man sighed. "After Theodora died, _I_ wanted to die. I did not want a life anymore, not without her. The Church was the alternative to suicide. I threw myself into the seminary. Thankfully an old priest took me aside and talked some sense into me. He made me delay going into the priesthood for a year or so. He told me that I needed time to clear my head, to realize that life is precious and not so easily given up. 'Everyone has a choice', he told me. I needed to understand what I was leaving behind and what I was coming into." Father Dominic leaned forward, pressing his massive hands on the desktop. "He was a wise man, my old teacher."

"And did you make the right decision?"

Father Dominic considered this question for a long moment. Finally, he shrugged, saying, "I don't know for sure. I've been a priest for almostforty years, and I still don't know. I suppose I never will know. I'll never know if there was another woman out there for me to love as much as I loved Theodora. I'll never know what my life would've been like if I had found life to be to precious to leave behind. But _my_ choices are not what I wanted to talk about."

"No?"

"No. I wanted to talk about _your_ choices."

Sean swallowed hard, and as he met Father Dominic's imploring gaze he felt as if his heart was going to beat right through his chest and end up on the desk between them, flopping around like a caught fish. How did he do it? How did the old man know, so clearly, of the battle that was waged daily in Sean's soul? And more importantly, what was he saying about it? Panic rose in his throat like bile, and before he realized what he was doing Sean was standing up, so abruptly that he almost upset his chair in the process. Father Dominic watched his actions with a quizzical, slightly pained expression creasing his already wrinkled face. " I'm sorry, Father. I just recalled an appointment that I had this afternoon. They'll um, they'll be waiting. Thank you forthe talk, though. . . "

And then he ran. It occurred to Sean, as he did, that he had been running away a lot lately.

How easily New York pushed him back into old habits, like a coaxing mother, gently enough so he never even noticed he was right back where he began. Sean was never a confrontational person. Henever took joy in it, like the other boys did. Blink pulled out his brass knuckles. Jack preferred bare fists. Spot brandished his cane.

Sean ran.

But there was no running when Sean was asleep. He couldn't run from dreams. Even, as it seemed one rain-swollen, lightning streaked night, when he was awake.


	7. Part 7

He had been dreaming of her, of course. Did he ever dream of anything else? They were on a beach, walking in the surf, the cold water biting at their ankles. She was swinging a picnic basket in one hand, and a breeze had blown her hair in her eyes. Sean had just reached over to brush it away when a sound jolted him into reality.

Someone was banging on the door.

Half-asleep, Sean rolled out of bed and pulled on a nearby pair of pants. His brain was spinning. Knocking? The clock on the night table read 3:16. Was he still dreaming? Stumbling through the bare apartment, Sean hoped that he was. Knocks on the door at three in the morning were always harbingers of bad things.

The door was rattling on its hinges from the force of the fist that was hammering it on the other side. Sean unlatched the lock and pulled it open, bleary eyes peering out into the darkness.

"Father," an unfamiliar figure greeted him, pushing its way into the apartment. It pulled another figure roughly along with it, this one smaller and instantly recognizable. Her blue eyes flashed as a bolt of lightning illuminated the room momentarily, and she wretched her arm away from her companion's grasp.

"I'm _not_ gonna run, for Christ's sake," she spat, her words slurred just slightly.

Sean's jaw went slack. Furtively he pinched the inside of his arm. No, not dreaming. Not anymore.

"What–Lizzie–why–" the stunned priest stammered helplessly, as he watched the girl shake rain from her hair. She threw a glare in his direction, as if just realizing there was a third person in the room.

"Ask _that_ jackass. _I_ am not involved." In a huff she threw herself into the nearest chair, folded her arms, and tucked her chin into her chest, looking like a five-year-old who had just been punished.

Sean faced her companion, but before he could speak the young man turned a fierce gaze on him, saying, "She needs a place to stay. A _safe_ place to stay. So Jack figured that your place was our best bet. I mean, who's gonna come looking for her _here?_" He bent his head to light a the cigarette that was jammed between his lips, and as the match caught and bathed his face in an orange glow, Sean recognized the young man from his night at MacBride's a few weeks prior. Grey eyes, ever-present scowl, sharp features. Killian Shea.

"She's in trouble?" the priest demanded, deciding to save the cigarette argument for another day. There were more important things to discuss, anyway. "Who's looking for her?"

"_No one,_" piped up Lizzie from her seat, not bothering to look up.

"They will be, soon enough," retorted the young man, expelling a cloud of smoke as he did. Sean coughed rather pointedly, but received only a glare in return. The cigarette remained lit.

"They'd never touch me," Lizzie said defiantly, at the same time thanking God that Sean had not turned on the lights. No one could see her hands trembling in the dark.

Killian cast a steady, dangerous gaze in her direction. "They wouldn't have before. Now they will."

"Will someone _please_ tell me what the _hell_ is going on!" Sean had had enough of trying to piece together a story from their cryptic conversation. His shouting had silenced Killian and Lizzie, and now the pair simply stared flatly at him.

"Mick Hurley got into a disagreement with some punk from Queens tonight..." Killian finally began.

"Who just happens to be the kid brother of the most powerful gang-lord in the borough," cut in Lizzie sharply.

Killian pretended not to hear her. "...and things ended badly," he finished with a shrug.

Lizzie shot to her feet. "_Things ended badly?_ Christ, Killian, if you're gonna drag him into this he might as well know what really happened." She turned to Sean. "Mick killed 'im," she said bluntly, "shoved a knife in his throat, the drunken bastard. Now every thief, pickpocket, murderer and con-man in Queens is after him...and Jack thinks they're gonna come after _me_, too."

Sean stumbled backwards as if he'd been struck, his back slamming into a wall. He rubbed his hands over his face. Lizzie sat down again, and Killian sucked on his cigarette. "We don't got any other place to hide her. It'll just be for a couple of days...until we can figure out somethin' better." He appraised Sean with a faintly pitying air.The manwas a priest, after all, and Killian was a deeply religious young man, in his own twisted way. He would've almost felt bad for the guy, if Killian was prone to such silly things as _feeling_. "Jack says thanks. He knew you'd understand."

No. What Jack knew was Sean's weaknesses. That was how the great leader worked. That was how he had always worked. Playing off of people's weaknesses, people's loyalties, to get what he wanted, when he wanted it. Things always went Jack's way for a reason. He might not have known how to read words so well, but people? That was a different story.

His words met by nothing but a stunned silence, Killian Shea flicked ash on Sean's gleaming floor and turned to go. The door clicked shut softly behind him, like a gun before it's fired.

Suddenly alone, Sean and Lizzie appraised each other with wary eyes from their separate corners.

To neither of their surprise, she was the first to speak.

"You have anything to drink?" She asked, rising to her feet and wandering into the dim kitchen. She paused to glance out the window. The rain was giving up.

"Um...Father Dominic gave me some wine as a housewarming gift but..."

"Perfect," said Lizzie. She turned to face him, planting her hands on her hips. "Well? I ain't a God damn mind reader, Snoddy. Where is it?"

Sean hurried over, wasting no time in pulling the aforementioned wine out of a cabinet. He offered it to her helplessly. "I don't have a corkscrew."

"...of course you don't," muttered Lizzie as she grabbed the bottle. Without a word she bent and withdrew a small knife from her boot and a minute later the cork was on the counter and thewine was slipping down her throat. She paused to wipe her mouth and take in Sean's slightly horrified expression. "What?"

"You...carry a weapon?"

Lizzie laughed hoarsely at him, and was dismayed to find that it sounded rather hysterical. _Pull yourself together_, she commanded silently. "You've been gone a long time, Snoddy. The way things are now, I _need_ to." She paused to study him, standing there bare-chested not three feet away from her with that heartrending disappointed expression on his face, and tried not to think of how well the years had treated him, how they'd taken his gangly teenage body and made it solid, muscular, _attractive_. Pushing the wine into his surprised hands, she sauntered away into the living room, talking as she went. "You've got yourself a nice place..." There, see? Normal, adult conversation wasn't so impossible, and the space between them had clearedLizzie's head some.

Sean considered the bottle in his hand, and then raised it to his lips to take a swallow. Liquid courage. "They're putting me up here for awhile. Until I can move into the rectory..." Hesitantly he took a few steps in her direction. Did she feel the awkwardness, too? The forced, fake, _polite_ quality that hung like mist around them?

Lizziechuckled at that, and turned to walk toward him, her hand outstretched. For a split second, Sean thought she was reaching for him, and his breath caught in his throat. But when her fingers enclosed the neck of the bottle and pulled it from his grasp he blew out a long, strained breath. Of course it was the bottle she had been seeking. He was being ridiculous...

"The rectory? I always thought that word sounded kind of...dirty." She giggled again and took a long sip. Sean could feel the color rising to his cheeks, and was all of a sudden very aware that he was standing there, half-naked, in an empty apartment, with the only girl he had ever slept with.

"Yeah. Um, listen, Lizzie...it's late and it seems like you had a tough night...and I need to get up early..."

She slammed the wine bottle down so hard on the kitchen table that Sean jumped. In the dim lightLizzie's dark eyes were glinting dangerously. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sean, am I being an _inconvienience_ to you? I was trying to make fucking polite conversation._ Excuse me._" Lizzie picked up the bottle again, then seemed to change her mind mid-way and slammed it back down on the table. This time Sean winced, knowing all to well what was coming. Lizzie was always so predictable like that, with her temper tantrums and angry words.

"You know what? I don't need your fucking pity, Sean. You standing there looking at me like I'm some mess, some street rat criminal. Like you're so fucking _above_ me now. Just because of that God damn collar. Well guess what, Sean? You're _not_. I don't see any collar on you now. You can't hide behind it _now_. And you know what? You know what, Sean? Right now, all I see is the same scared, shy, unsure eighteen year old who ran out on me ten years ago. I can see right through you, Sean. Always could. You? This?" She picked up the bible that had been sitting open on the table. Sean had been making notes for Sunday's sermon. She threw the book at him with vehemence, hitting him squarely in the chest. "You're _pretending_. You pretending that you're better and that you don't care and that you're different now. But you're not! You're _not_,"she finished weakly, her voice soggy with tears. As her words rung in the air like gunshots, Lizzie realized how helpless and drunk and idiotic she sounded. But she was beyond the point of caring. Far beyond. It was to late too go back now.

Sean squeezed his eyes shut, leaning back against the counter, digging his fingernails into his palms. Focusing on the pain. Focusing on anything, really, that wasn't Lizzie and the words she had just spat at him. He could hear the scrape of the chair along the floor as she moved, but was surprised still when suddenly her fists were pounding against his shoulders and chest. "You're _not_ better than me," she sobbed furiously as she hit him over and over, "you're _not _better than Mick, even though he's a murderer and a criminal. He loves me. He's probably gonna die tonight, but _he loves me_. He–he-"

Sean wrapped his arms around her without thinking, despite the fact that her angry fists were still working his bare skin. He held her tight and without a word, until she wore herself out and collapsed against him, surrendering to the torrent of emotion that came over her like a tidal wave.

They stood there like that, intertwined like ivy, for a long time. Until Lizzie's chest stopped heaving with sobs and Sean's heart had slowed to a more normal pace. Until the raindrops stopped pounding the pavement outside, and the thunder faded to a distant and vaguely threatening rumble. Until it felt like their skin had melted together, and neither of them knew nor cared where one began and the other ended.

"Sean?"

All he could muster was a muted grunt. He was far too involved in memorizing the smell of her hair and the tickle of it as it brushed against his cheek. The feel of her ribs under his palms and her fingernails scraping against the back of his neck. "Did you love me?"

He pulled away from her slightly so that their eyes met. "What?"

"I mean, back then. Did you love me? Cause it seemed awfully easy for you to run away, just like it didn't matter," she mumbled quietly before taking a deep breath. "You gotta tell me that you didn't love me, Sean. So that I can get on with my life, and marry Mick, and have lots of kids, and...and...just _get on_ with things..."

And that was when the priest had kissed her. Fiercely and furiously and without any shred of politeness or gentility. Sean's mouth was hot as it met her own, tongue presumptuous, hands brash as they pulled her in tightly. She could feel the goose bumps on his exposed flesh, and ran her fingers over them, relishing in the texture that betrayed Sean's emotions, reassuring Lizzie that he did still feel for her, even after all this time, even if he didn't want to.


End file.
